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April 11, 1874
Waiting at the station for the train to come to a complete stop, I felt my heart begin to beat a little faster. I had sent the telegram to Wilmington, hoping only that Hank's brother would recommend a Denver attorney with the legal skills necessary to convince a jury of the barkeep's innocence, but much to my surprise he had volunteered his own services. Minutes away from his arrival, I still had not managed to find a way to tell an increasingly ill-tempered Hank that the lawyer who would be representing him at trial was his own estranged kin. When a man with thick, Nordic blond hair appeared on the rear platform, I drew in a quick breath of surprise. Standing at least six-foot-five, he had the same high cheekbones, square jaw, and riveting blue eyes as Hank, and dressed in a light gray suit that had been tailored to fit his tall, muscular build, he was a breathtakingly attractive male. "Miss McShane?" He brushed away an errant lock that fell over his brow as he came down the steps to meet me. "I'm Erik Lausenstrom." "Thank you for coming on such short notice." I gazed up at him in amazement. His hair was the color and texture of Zach's, cut into layers left long enough at the nape to cover his collar, and he was slightly taller and less lanky than Hank, but the two brothers could almost have been mistaken for twins. "Considering the charges, this took precedence over any of the other cases that I was working on," he admitted. "My law partners will take care of any problems that arise which simply can't wait." "I certainly hope that your journey wasn't terribly difficult?" "Spending that many days on a train is always tiring, but I've never been to this part of the country, and I was curious to see for myself what it was like," he responded pleasantly. "Despite the inclement weather that we've been having, I think that you will find that it's quite beautiful here...that you won't be disappointed." "Some parts of it that I have already seen are magnificent." He smiled, his eyes drifting over my face in genuine admiration. "Why don't I take you to the Gold Nugget so that you can get settled into your room? Or would you prefer some refreshment after your long ride? Perhaps a cup of coffee?" "I would like to see Hans first, if you don't mind," he requested. "It's only fair that I warn you--he's moody and extremely irritable at this point in time. For the last week he's had absolutely nothing to say to me whenever I visit." "Why?" Erik looked puzzled. "Your brother is a very difficult man to read...but my own interpretation of his actions lately is that in his own misguided way, he's trying to protect me." I sighed. "Hank is convinced that he will be convicted, and he thinks that it will be easier for us both if I go ahead and leave Colorado before the trial even begins." "My understanding, from what you wrote, is that you're the key witness for the defense?" "I am." "Apparently he hasn't changed a great deal in twenty-one years." He shook his head slightly. "There's something else that you ought to know..." I nervously licked my lips, then took in a deep breath and exhaled. "He isn't aware of the fact that I've asked for your help." "And you're not looking forward to telling him," he surmised, a bemused smile lifting the corner of his mouth. "Not in the least," I confessed. "There is very little that I'm afraid of, Miss McShane--least of all my younger brother." He offered me his arm. "Shall we go beard the lion in his den?" Feeling impossibly tiny next to the towering Norwegian, I pulled my hood up to protect my hair from the slight drizzle then allowed him to escort me across the street to the jail. He opened the door and drew back, inviting me to enter first, and as I stepped over the threshold anxiety over the explosion that I knew was coming threatened to choke me. "I'm Mr. Lawson's attorney." Erik faced Daniel. "Would there be a place where it's possible for me to speak with my client in private?" "I was just goin' over to Grace's." Daniel picked up his hat and put it on. "You got the jail all to yourself 'til I come back." Erik helped me out of my cloak and hung it on a peg, both of us deliberately waiting until after Daniel was on his way across the street before stepping into Hank's line of sight. For a moment he remained seated on the bunk, staring in stunned disbelief, then he was on his feet, the bars clutched in both hands. "You!" he growled. "It's been a long time," Erik said smoothly. "What the hell is goin' on?" "I asked him to come," I replied levelly. "So's at least one member of my family could enjoy watchin' me swing from a rope?" "So that Erik can hopefully stop that from happening." I frowned, moving closer to the bars. "You're in desperate need of his skills and knowledge of the law." "Don't need any of 'em. Never have. Never will." He glared at his brother. "Unless you have some kind of death wish, you do." I faced Hank squarely, irritated by his attitude. "You're about to go on trial for murder, and Erik is considered to be one of the finest attorneys in the Southeast." "Far as he's concerned, he'd like nothin' better than to see me strung up," Hank charged. "If you think any of the Lausenstroms would lift one finger to help save my ass, then yer a damned fool." "You not only look and sound like a barbarian, you also have the poor manners of one." Erik eyed him in frank distaste. "Musta spent too much o' my time with whores." Hank shrugged carelessly. "Did she tell you what I do? That I earn my livin' sellin' whiskey and women?" For a moment Erik looked taken aback, then his eyes narrowed. "The only reason that I'm here is because you're a member of my family who has gotten himself involved in a legal situation which could cost you your life. If you don't want me to represent you in court, then say so, and I'll get back onto the train." "Why'd I wanna put my life in the hands of a man who would as soon see me dead as not?" Hank challenged. "Be better off defendin' myself." "Suit yourself." Erik started to turn away. "No. Please." I laid my hand on his arm, looking up at him pleadingly. "Stay out of this," Hank snapped. "It's none of yer business." "I love you," I said flatly. "That makes it my business." "Are you hard of hearin'--or is it that you just don't un'erstand plain English?" he growled. "I already told you ever way I know how that you'n'me, we're finished. That I don't want nothin' else to do with you. It's over! What's it gonna take to get that through your head, woman? I don't need you--and I sure as hell don't need him. Just get the hell OUTTA here--BOTH of you--and leave me be!" "Let's go, Miss McShane," Erik suggested firmly, deftly steering me away from the cell and dropping my cape around my shoulders as he led me out onto the street. I was crying, my hope for Hank's acquittal dashed, and Erik looked down at me in consternation before offering his handkerchief. Shielding me from curious passersby, he said nothing as I struggled to regain some measure of self-control. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "You are the one who is owed an apology--you have nothing at all to be sorry for." The muscle in his jaw twitched with restrained fury. "It's all too apparent that Hans has forgotten how a gentleman behaves toward a lady." "Deep down, he doesn't really mean what he's saying." I sniffed. "Whether he meant what he said or not, there is no excuse that could possibly ever justify the way that my brother spoke to you in there." His voice held a hard edge. "Let me assure you that he was raised in such a way that he definitely knows better." "He's not always like this. There's a very different side of Hank from the one that you just saw." "Be that as it may, he is clearly unwilling to accept my help." He straightened his shoulders. "It appears that there's nothing for me to do here. I'll be returning to Wilmington on tomorrow's train." "Don't go," I pleaded urgently. "Give him time to think this through." "Given Hans' temperament, do you seriously believe that he might change his mind?" "I've known him to rethink his initial reaction far more often than you might believe." I met his gaze. "Seeing you was a shock. I should have told him that you were coming." "I doubt that it would have made a great deal of difference." He sighed. "I'm sorry. If you would be so kind as to let my family know the outcome of his trial, we would be extremely grateful." "I would like to retain your services on his behalf," I said quietly. "The entire responsibility for payment of your expenses and the fees for your time will be mine." "This isn't about money, Miss McShane." Erik shook his head, rejecting my offer. "I have a busy law practice back in North Carolina-- clients who need me. I fulfilled any obligation that I had to Hans when I offered him my legal assistance. It was his choice to turn that down." "You could easily make the difference in whether your brother lives or dies," I reminded him quietly. "Hank is innocent, but he needs your help to convince a Judge and a Jury of that. If you leave now and he loses, is there not a very good chance that you will be left wondering for the rest of your life if things might have turned out differently, if you had only stayed?" "You have to understand that it would be impossible for me to represent Hans against his will." He stiffened slightly. "With him refusing to cooperate, my hands are tied." "Please--give him a few days," I begged. "At least allow him the opportunity to change his mind." There was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, then I saw him relent. "After coming all the way out here, I suppose that it would be foolish not to stretch my legs and have a look around." "Thank you." "Perhaps you would care to have dinner with me tonight?" "I would like that very much." I wiped again at my tear-stained cheeks. "So would I." He smiled down at me. Shamelessly determined to persuade Erik Lausenstrom to remain for a long enough time to allow me to convince Hank to come to his senses, I carefully pressed one of the two evening dresses that I had brought to Colorado--both of which had remained unworn until now. Sewn from a bolt of the finest royal blue velvet, with a neckline that was cut low and off the shoulders, tightly fitted Juliet sleeves ending in a row of tiny buttons from the middle of the forearm to my wrist, and a snug bodice, it was simple and elegant, yet quite different from most of my "teacher" gowns, which had been purposefully designed to make me fade into the background. Although the soft kid dancing shoes that had been dyed to match were somewhat delicate for the raw weather, I set them out on the bed, along with white silk stockings. After a long soak in the tub, I dabbed myself with perfume and began to pin my curls up into a loose arrangement, allowing tendrils to drop around my face and fall down my back. For once my heavy mane was in the mood to cooperate, and I sighed with relief as I studied myself in the mirror. The dress went on over several layers of petticoats, and I opened the hidden drawer in my wardrobe, taking out a delicate sapphire necklace and matching teardrop earrings. Picking up a kohl eye pencil, I drew a faint smudge at the base of my upper lashes, then lightly rubbed my cheeks and lips with the barest hint of a shell-pink transparent rouge. Even though it was flying in the face of the Western dictum that only whores painted their faces, like most women from my social strata I had often worn cosmetics for special occasions, having learned to apply them with a sparing, skillful hand so that no one was any the wiser. I had finished dressing and was laying my black velvet cape out when the barking of the dogs alerted me to Erik's arrival. Taking a last quick glance into the mirror I waited for his knock, then smiled as I opened the door. "I will be the envy of every man in town tonight." His gaze swept over my gown. "You look absolutely stunning." "Thank you." I handed him my wrap, which he settled carefully around my shoulders. "Did you find my house without any major difficulty?" "Mr. Lodge, at the bank, gave me detailed directions--as well as a recommendation for where we might go for dinner." "The Springs Chateau?" "Yes--as a matter of fact." "Mr. Lodge owns it," I explained, blowing out the lamps. "If you would prefer that we go elsewhere..." "The Chateau would be lovely." When we entered the dining room heads swiveled in our direction, and I stole another look at the man by my side. Dressed in black evening attire, blond hair shining beneath the overhead lamps and his clean-shaven profile strong and handsome, Erik Lausenstrom carried himself with a kind of masculine self-assurance that guaranteed his presence would never pass unnoticed, no matter where he was or whose company he was in. We were escorted to a table near the back of the room, and I saw Erik give a slight nod that indicated his approval of the location before he seated me and took his place opposite mine. After a quick study of the menu he ordered both meals and the wine, then drank from a glass of whiskey that had been placed at his elbow by our attentive waiter. "You're quite a long way from home," he remarked lightly. "A very long way," I agreed. "Charleston?" "An excellent guess." I laughed. "I was born and raised just outside of Savannah." "Which would make you one of Evan McShane's four famously beautiful daughters," he teased. "You know my father?" I asked in surprise. "The Lausenstroms and McShanes have had regular business dealings for years--I have seen his name over and over again on shipping invoices. I can even recall several occasions before the war when your family and mine attended the same social functions. I was completely smitten with one of your sisters at the time, which is why I have such vivid memories of one particular houseparty. She must have been about 14...very petite, with blue eyes and dark auburn-brown hair." "Anna," I supplied her name. "Small world... How long have you been living in Colorado?" "In June it will have been a year." "It surprises me to find a woman of your station who would deliberately subject herself to the kind of hardships that come along with living out here in the middle of nowhere," he admitted candidly. "This is a rather drastic change from the kind of life that you've been accustomed to living." "It's been a challenge, as well as a grand adventure." I smiled in agreement. "I dare say that nothing could have prepared me for all of the changes that have taken place in my brother." He studied the amber liquor in his glass. "His lifestyle--his appearance--even his manner of speech has changed completely. At one time Hans was capable of speaking both proper English and Norwegian. Now he sounds like an illiterate mountain man. I'm not certain that I would have recognized him if we had simply met on the street." "And yet the two of you look so very much alike that when you stepped down from the train I couldn't help but stare." "The fact that we had similar features was the bane of my existence growing up," he confessed. "We were much the same size for a long time, and he was a towhead back then, so even though I'm two years older it was difficult for anyone who didn't know us well to tell us apart. Hans was always getting himself into scrapes, and when it came time to assign the blame, neighbors were as likely to accuse me as him." "It sounds as if he has always been one to swim against the tide." "From the minute that he was born Hans stopped up his ears and charged through life like a battering ram," he said drily. "Even when he was a child no one could reason with him. The headmaster considered him nothing but trouble, first to last, and our father must have given him twice as many lashings as the rest of us combined, but punishment had no effect on Hans whatsoever." "He told me that there were problems between him and your father-- that he left home as soon as he turned 15." "He ran away--and that was the last the family saw of him. If he hadn't written an occasional letter to our grandmother, we wouldn't have known if he was dead or alive." "I was under the impression that he didn't feel that it would be of particular interest to anyone else," I responded levelly as the first course was set in front of us. "That your grandmother was the only one with whom he felt he had close ties?" "I'm certain that you would agree that every family has its share of strained relationships." "My own may be the exception." I tasted what turned out to be an excellent turtle soup. "Which doesn't explain what you're doing all the way out here in Colorado." He raised his eyebrows questioningly. "I haven't been to Wilmington in many years, Mr. Lausenstrom, so I don't know how that it compares, but the war left my part of the South with deep scars," I said quietly. "Everywhere you look there are day to day reminders...burned out buildings, men with missing limbs and haunted eyes...and too many people who keep fighting the same old battles over and over again. When the opportunity arose to come out here to teach, I saw it as a chance to escape for awhile to a place where the war is truly over--to somewhere that had no difficult memories for me to have to live with." "There hasn't been one day in all of these years when something hasn't reminded me of the men who died under my command...when I haven't wondered if there was anything that I could have or should have done differently." He shook his head grimly. "You can't outrun those memories, no matter how far you go." "But time and distance does help to make them more bearable," I opined softly. "I had thought that I would never be capable of falling in love, marrying and having a family--but finding Hank changed my mind." "From the moment we met I've been curious about that." He tossed back the last of his drink. "Why would a lady like you, one who could very likely have any man that she wants, agree to marry someone like my brother?" "Because Hank is the one that I want." I met his gaze. "Would that be because of his elegant manners--the smooth way that he has of handling women--perhaps his sartorial splendor?" he sneered. "The last time that you saw your brother he was l5 years old. You don't even know him," I accused. "If I did, my opinion would probably mirror that of the majority of the fine citizens of this town: he's a brawling, hot-tempered owner of a whorehouse who sells watered-down whiskey and regularly gets himself arrested--this last time for murder." "Perhaps Hank was right--you may not be an appropriate choice to represent him at trial." My voice was icy with suppressed anger. "But as you said earlier, I am probably the best chance that he has of not getting his neck broken at the end of a rope," he opined flatly. "Hank is NOT a killer." I ground out between gritted teeth. "He is as innocent of this murder as you are!" "I didn't say that I thought he was guilty," he reminded me, leaning slightly back in his chair. "But I spent the afternoon asking questions and listening to people talk. His reputation is something less than sterling, and we both know it." "What did those people tell you, Mr. Lausenstrom? Did they remember to mention that he's gone out to search for every person who's ever gotten himself lost out here? That he was the one who was able to convince Dr. Quinn that the town needed her skills when she was considering giving up her practice to raise her daughter? Did any of those people recall that he helped to dig out the miners after the cave-in and tended the ones who were injured? Or that he gave the Reverend an interest-free loan and additional time to pay it off when he could have foreclosed on the Church and used the land for a new hotel?" I glared at him across the table. "Did they think to tell you that he was the one who got fed up with renegade Indians riding through the middle of town, firing rifles and throwing dynamite, and set up guards to protect us? Or that he volunteered to go into the house when Michaela and her children were being held hostage by armed robbers and ended up having to shoot one of those men? Maybe they remembered that he saved Dr. Mike's life when she was shot in her own clinic? Or that on the first of February he took a bullet that came close to killing him to save me from being kidnapped and raped?" "Did Hans tell YOU that he was too much of a coward to come home to fight when the war started?" Erik challenged, giving the hovering waiter a dismissive wave of his hand that sent the man scurrying back to the kitchen. "Did he admit that even after our brother, Gunnar, was killed-- when he knew that the South needed every able-bodied man who could fire a rifle--and even my father, who was 53 years old at the time, joined up--he still ignored Far's orders to return and enlist?" "Would you care to know why?" "I know why!" His eyes blazed with fury. "He's yellow--right down to the core." "Hank is one of the few men that I know who is willing to fight for what he believes in, even if he has to stand alone." I heard my voice tremble with barely controlled rage. "The last thing that he lacks is courage." "What he is is a shame and a disgrace to our family, Miss McShane. My father disowned him years ago. As far as the others are concerned, Hans Lausenstrom is already dead. If he hangs, it will be a mere formality. All the way out here I kept asking myself why I was rushing to save his neck-- why I should do try to do anything for Hans, when he had refused to come and risk his own precious skin alongside the rest of us." "Are you interested in knowing the truth--or are you content to believe a lie?" I snapped in irritation. "The unfortunate TRUTH is that my brother is a man without honor-- nor a sense of duty!" "Do you honestly believe that Hank was sitting somewhere safe and warm, while you dodged bullets and starved, Mr. Lausenstrom?" I fired back savagely. "Are you really that completely focused on yourself and your own little corner of the world to the exclusion of everything else? There were other battles being fought in this country--in Indian territory, by Hank and men like Hank. As important as it might have been to you and me, when you're two thousand miles away and locked in a brutal struggle simply to survive, a war fought over states' rights has very little to do with your own day to day reality. You look at this place as uncivilized now? When Hank first came here it took months for mail and supplies to arrive, if they ever got here at all. You made what you needed--or you did without. Out here a man carved out a niche for himself and then worked and fought to hold onto it. If Hank hadn't been around to defend his home, he would have had nothing to come back to--all of those years of blood and sweat would have been lost. But that's not why he didn't return." I leaned forward, holding his gaze. "The TRUTH is that Hank had a five year old son whose mother was killed by Utes three months before the war started. A child who had no one else to protect and care for him except for his father." "Hans had a son?" His voice was raw with stunned emotion. "HAS a son," I corrected him quietly. "Zach turned 18 back in February." "He never mentioned a child." Visibly rattled by the news, Erik drained his glass of wine and poured another. "Our mother would have offered to take care of the boy while he was off fighting--if only Hans had seen fit to inform us that he existed." "Despite the fact that Zach's mother was a whore, Mr. Lausenstrom?" I asked mildly. "And she and Hank were never married?" "Jesus Christ." He rubbed his forehead wearily. "There's one more piece to this." I waited until he looked up to continue. "Zach was different from other children. Perhaps it came from being an extremely sensitive, gifted child growing up in a whorehouse and was compounded by his mother's death--we'll never really know the why of it --but the end result was that from age three Zach rarely spoke, and he hid from strangers. He was so afraid of being around other people that he didn't begin his formal schooling until he was 12 years old. The town of Colorado Springs wanted him put into an asylum for the mentally deficient or insane, and that is exactly where your nephew would be right now if Hank hadn't been here to take care of him. I know as well as you do how desperately the South needed soldiers, but Hank's son needed him more." "Hans never bothered to answer our letters," Erik admitted dully. "He knew what we thought. God knows, we made no secret of it. In all of these years he's never given us any reason for why he refused to return to North Carolina. He has never once even attempted to defend himself." "Perhaps he thought that he shouldn't have to explain himself to you or to anyone else. Maybe it was enough for him that he knew why." "Hans' son... Where is he now?" "He was in boarding school in Denver until recently." I glanced down at tender medallions of beef topped with a wine-mushroom sauce as the plate was placed in front of me. "Since his graduation he's been living with me." "Is he--normal?" "That need not concern you overly much," I seethed, my temper sparking like a Chinese firecracker. "Zach will have a home with me for as long as he wants--either here or at Riverview--and Hank has provided for him financially. Regardless of what happens at this trial, you won't have to return to face your neighbors in Wilmington and admit that you have an illegitimate nephew." "You misunderstand me," he objected. "I would never turn Zach away--normal or not--born out of wedlock or not." "You turned your back quickly enough on your own brother," I charged bitterly. "And it appears now that I was terribly wrong." He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Perhaps we could start this all over again, Miss McShane? Will you please accept my apology for the turn that this evening has taken?" "I'm afraid that depends largely on what your intentions are where Hank is concerned," I admitted, picking up my glass and inhaling the bouquet of an excellent burgundy. "Tomorrow morning I will talk with him again--and try to make amends. But whether or not Hans changes his mind and allows me to defend him, I'll still do everything that's within my power to assure that his name is cleared," he vowed quietly. "I have no intention of leaving Colorado until this is all over." "Why the change of heart?" I questioned, not quite willing yet to forgive. "I'm a widower with a three year old daughter of my own," he said quietly. "My wife died when Kristen was four days old, and war or not--a matter of honor or not--nothing is more important to me than that little girl. I have absolutely no doubt that under the same circumstances I would have done exactly what Hans did." "Whatever problems that Zach might have had as a child, they're completely gone," I softened, picking up my knife and fork. "He's perfectly fine now. Perhaps you would like to meet him when you take me back home after dinner?" "I would like that very much, Miss McShane." "Caitlyn." "Erik." Familiar-seeming blue eyes met mine. |
